


Mourning

by applecameron



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:52:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vila seeks out Avon for a sodden accusation.  Pre-slash if you squint.  Spoilers for "Terminal", "Rescue".  Occurs before "Orbit".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mourning

"Mourning"

If Avon had been in full armour he wouldn't have dared say a thing. As it was, the man was wearing a loose tunic, half-open, and sleeping trousers scrounged from somewhere within Xenon Base or a random trade squeezed in during some mission, as was almost everything they wore. It made him look slightly less intimidating.

"Well?"

Vila was just drunk enough to have risked the door chime, but not drunk enough to be unafraid of his wrath. There wasn't enough alcohol on the base to achieve that level of emotional numbness. But he was a man on a mission. Turning away slightly from a prospective blow, still he lifted his head to meet Avon's eyes directly. "You never held a service for Cally."

Avon studied him for a long moment, taking in the stance expecting a beating, complete with despair-hunched shoulders and whatever other body language it was that Vila knew he was broadcasting. But Avon, you know, Avon could see and not see, at the same time. He didn't have Blake's talent for reading people. Or trusting them. He simulated the bulk of his people skills through some form of advanced computer model - equal parts germanium chips and paranoia, that was Avon.

Vila let himself be studied, unnerving as it might be, then added, "You don't even seem to miss her. Or any of them."

"Getting sentimental about our past is useless." But he unblocked the doorway, which for Avon, was equivalent to gesturing Vila in.

"We're all that's left, you and me." Vila bumped into the room, the carafe in his hand nearly empty, the glass mislaid hours ago.

"I know." There was a glass and carafe of wine already on Avon's table.

"Drinking alone, I see. Not healthy. You should drink with me." He reached for the glass and poured. From Avon's store of the stuff, not his own.

"Sit." Vila did. "You were saying." The eyes that normally held laser beams behind them were dialed down to a respectable glow.

So he got back to the point, pushing the glass at Avon, who ignored it. "It's like you don't even care that they're gone."

Vila was again the object of intense scrutiny, which made him want to flee for safety to the shadows, or play more drunk than he was to hide in plain sight. He stayed still and waited, instead. "It matters a great deal to me that they are gone." Avon allowed, finally. There was a longer pause, followed by the more diffident admission, "I try not to let it cloud my decisonmaking."

Vila folded up, almost relieved, yet miserably struck by the thought that this is why Cally called for Blake in the end, not Avon. What do you do when your heart is gone and you are left behind? Yet Avon was precise. Try, he'd said. Doesn't mean succeed.

Vila could abruptly feel liquid on his own face, so he placed his carafe on the table carefully, though there was little left within. "I miss Cally. I miss Blake. I miss Jenna and Gan. He was the first of us to go. We held a service for him."

"Yes, we did." Avon's voice, well, if it wasn't sad, it was something close to it.

They had gathered Gan's things and Cally had gone through them, picking out what should be kept and treasured. They wrapped the rest and gave it a burial in space with a three-shot salute from the neutron blasters. Blake had stood in the centre of the flight deck and spoken of Gan's friendship, his love for people. Jenna had called him a good friend. Vila didn't remember what he'd said. Avon had been a characteristically dour presence, but that was the man's way, wasn't it? He wasn't good at the mushy stuff. At humanity. Now here he was, trying to be a centre for all of them, and didn't know how to do it.

To try didn't mean succeed. Could only manage to goad them with words and fear instead of inspire with love.

He felt pity for Avon, suddenly, trapped in his armour, and that, as much as Cally, finessed the lock and cracked his heart wide open, drunk or no. "I miss her. I miss her. Should've held one for Cally." Should have held one for all of us.

Avon breathed, as if his simulation was running to tell him what to do next, complex confusing humans and their emotions, then moved his chair close and gathered Vila into his lap. Which was, startingly, the right choice, because Vila began to bawl in earnest, like a child abandoned.

Avon held him and said something, touching his hair, but Vila had no idea what. It was enough to be held and purge some of the pain that gripped him.

As his crying jag tapered off, Vila wondered aloud, "You're like this cat I knew once, you know that? Ever seen a cat?" He faced away from Avon, unable to look him in the eye as he began to pull away.

Avon took a deep breath and pulled Vila back to him, expressing no surprise at the non sequitor. Vila folded in against him, and this time the warmth was different. The comfort was different. Not that of a parent and lost child. But of almost equals. Like Vila had value or Avon wouldn't hold him.

It felt good. It felt really good.

Avon answered the question. "I might have, once. You?"

"I was on a space station somewhere. Stealing something. I don't remember what. Anyway, there was this fellow and he had a cat. It had a knack for getting places like you wouldn't believe."

"Sounds like your speciality."

"Well, I try to be modest, but when you have as great a talent as mine--" He started to draw away again to make the quip, healed enough to endure life a little longer, and was again stopped by Avon's arms.

It struck Vila, suddenly, that Avon needed to hold, though he could not admit it, as much as Vila needed to be held. He relaxed completely against Avon then, luxuriating in the sensation. There was a heart under the chest, he could hear it beating beneath his ear. It existed.

"Tell me about the cat."

"Little black and white thing with stripes on its head. And it would go around and if it wanted affection, it would approach you, and if it didn't, it wouldn't. Or if it got tired of you when you were petting it, it would claw you."

"Sounds dangerous."

"Exactly." He kept his head down, unable to look Avon in the eye. "Blake - Blake was like a dog, all loyal and trusting and words criminals like you and me aren't supposed to know." The tears were starting again and this time he wondered would they ever stop. "And Cally--"

"Tell me what Cally was, Vila." The arms around him tightened to near pain but the voice was calm. "I want to know."

"She was just Cally. Just Cally. Fierce. Gentle." His voice trailed off. "She was just Cally."

Avon kept him safe until the tears seemed gone, at least for now, and his head hurt from crying.

So he cleared his throat and followed on, as if minutes and tears hadn't elapsed, "the cat was attached to that fellow, though. It was like, even though he couldn't tolerate his human always, it was still his human, and that meant he needed it. Or wanted it. So that he'd miss it when it was gone."

Avon didn't say anything for a long time, just petted Vila's hair with one hand until Vila sighed, figuring he had pushed his luck and Avon's humanity about as far as either could go. "I'm sorry. I just--"

"I should like it if you stayed the night." Avon informed him. Not, _you should stay the night_. Or, _stay the night_. But, _I should like it if you did_. It was enough to make a man say yes to anything, that.

Sallied in response, "So you can make sure I don't do something stupid?"

He felt rather than heard the smile, the beating heart under his ear. "That may be a task beyond my capacities."

"And don't you forget it. I got into plenty of trouble on my own before you lot entered my life."

"Come along, then. I'm tired." Shove and he was standing, arms wrapping around himself again, cut off from the heat he'd basked in moments ago. Gentler push up the stairs and they were in the sleeping quarter, looking down at the bed.

Avon undid his tunic and Vila turned to look at him.

"Take off your boots if you're going to stay." He dropped the tunic to the floor, revealing his bare chest.

And then he climbed into the bed, settling on one side, the invitation quite clear.

So Vila did. Take off his boots, then jumpsuit, leaving short briefs as his underthings and a thin shirt he hesitated before removing then pulled it off, even if it made him feel naked next to Avon's sleeping trousers.

Avon touched the open side of the bed, once.

They spooned, Avon cupping him protectively, and drew the light coverlet back over them both.

Avon's chin massaged little circles into Vila's shoulder until a muscle there abruptly relaxed and he felt himself journeying toward sleep.

After several minutes, Vila asked, drowsily, "you won't be cross with me if I leave out of shame once I sober up, will you?" Such mildness from Avon couldn't last, the claws and teeth would come out as soon as he tired of Vila's affection, of comforting himself by comforting him.

Avon pushed his forehead against Vila's spine, like that fellow's cat fitting itself against someone's - Vila's - palm.

Answered a question Vila hadn't dared ask. "I miss my human, too."

***

When morning, or some semblance thereof, arrived, Vila woke to find himself still there, with Avon still holding him safe.


End file.
